


Tears

by silentexplorer18



Series: In Feeling There is Strength: The Tears Series [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Best Friends, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mild Language, Negative Thoughts, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader with a Bad Homelife, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentexplorer18/pseuds/silentexplorer18
Summary: Some people are just stronger than others, but everyone breaks eventually.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Jughead Jones & Reader, Jughead Jones/Reader
Series: In Feeling There is Strength: The Tears Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653502
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Tears

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 1 of my series _In Feeling There Is Strength: The Tears Series_. You do not need to read any of the other parts if you don't want to (I did originally write this as a stand alone piece, and I still stand by it being a lovely stand alone piece), but if you'd like to know what happens after this point, feel free to check out the rest of the series!

When Jughead’s beanie had been stolen off his head, you’d been the one to find him crying outside his trailer. Even though the both of you were only six, you’d known Jughead long enough to instinctively realize that something was severely wrong if he was crying.

Jug never cried.

So you’d plopped down on the ground next to him, hand gently gripping his own until he’d regained his composure enough to tell you what had happened.

That night, you’d tracked down the little boy that had stolen your best friend’s hat and, being the ever gracious lady you were, punched him in the throat and, with a sickly sweet voice, reminded him that next time he’d _actually_ get beat up by a girl. You’d never seen Jughead more happy than when you slipped his beanie back over his head with a tousle of his raven locks.

He never mentioned the crying incident, and you found it your duty to bring him up instead of reminding him of events that tore him down.

In the years that followed, the two of you remained hip and hip; there were long days at Pop’s, slumber parties, and nights out in the woods staring at the stars. You were just friends, never more than that, and although you thought he was the handsomest, most incredible boy you’d ever met, your friendship with him meant more to you than anything your heart could ever want.

The next time he cried, you were curled next to him on the same trailer park wall, arms circled around his shoulders as he sobbed into your chest. His desperate, ragged breaths broke your heart as he relived the moment his family splintered apart over and over in his mind.

All you could do was hold him, cradle him against your chest and remind him that everything would work out in the end.

Raising his head from your tear stained shirt, he desperately pleaded, “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you, too. You and my dad are all I have left.”

Shushing him, you pulled his head back to your chest, running your fingers through his wild hair as your pressed your lips to the crown of his head in an attempt to keep from crying, too. “I’ll never leave you, Juggie. I’ll never abandon you. I’m right here.” He nodded, arms squeezing you tighter as you felt the tears water in your eyes.

You loved him.

When he’d moved into the projection room, you were the only one he told, and when the building of your childhood was threatened with being flattened, you’d been the one to wrap Jughead in a hug, glassy eyes gazing at the carnage silently.

You had to be strong for him.

When he was taken in for questioning, you’d stayed by the door, shooting glares at every officer that moved in your direction. After being released, he instinctively took your hand, pulling you out of the building, past his friends and his father. The two of you got milkshakes at Pop’s, you doing most of the talking while he receded into his introspective self. It wasn’t until you’d taken his hand and pulled him from the restaurant that he focused back in on you, offering you a gentle hug before he went home.

That night you curled up on your bed and cried, thinking of what could’ve happened if they hadn’t let him go. He was your best friend. You couldn’t lose him.

You promised you wouldn’t leave him.

When the day rolled around that FP Jones was taken into custody for the murder of Jason Blossom, you’d been the one Jughead had ran to, arms enveloping your figure as heartbroken sobs echoed in your ears. He shattered in your arms, the last small fragment of family he had evaporating. You had cuddled his tears away and encouraged him in all his pursuits of recovery, be it writing or investigating or joining the Serpents.

You had patched him up through all his toughest moments, reminding him that someone cared.

The last thing you were expecting to see when you stopped by that Saturday morning with a casserole and box of homemade cookies was Betty Cooper, disheveled and not totally dressed, greeting you at the door, a shirtless Jughead arriving behind her moments later.

They both saw the shock and hurt that flashed through your eyes, but you quickly plastered on your best fake smile, shoving the food into Betty’s arms as quickly as possible. “I figured Jug would be hungry this weekend, I know how he hates to cook and there’s only so much Pop’s he can eat before I start getting concerned for his health.” Your eyes didn’t meet Jughead’s as you spoke, and he knew the reason why.

He’s always suspected you loved him behind that friendly facade.

You gave a half-assed smile before turning and racing back down the steps, quickly trotting off through the trailers back to your home.

Your broken home.

The home where your parents were getting a divorce and your brother was into Ghoulie drugs and your little sister had been taken away to a mental asylum for self harm. The home you had kept hidden from Jughead all these years because you needed to be strong for him.

Until the walls crashed down around you.

Jughead didn’t need you anymore with another girl around.

_Like he’d ever really needed you to begin with_ , your mind taunted.

You were just convenient for him.

Shaking your head, you tried to knock the painful thoughts away, knowing they wouldn’t do you any good.

That evening, your parents had started fighting, a screaming match erupting in the kitchen that included plenty of broken furniture. When the doorbell rang, David opened it, snarling at the visitor in his Jingle Jangle fog. As you rushed to the door, the last person you were expecting to see was Jughead, wary eyes gazing at your brother. “I’m sorry about him,” you whispered, grabbing the knob of the door and pulling it shut as you stepped onto your porch, pulling him down into the grass in the hopes you would be able to hear him better. You followed his gaze to the crash that sounded through the window as your parents threw God-knows-what at one another. Pulling your sweater a little tighter around your front, you murmured, “What’s up, Jug?”

His eyes trained on you again, but the bizarre noises from the house continued to persist. “What’s going on here?”

Your cheeks reddened as you suddenly found an immense fascination with the tuft of grass beside your shoe. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Instinctively, his hand reached out to lift your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “If I don’t need to worry, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me about it.” Sighing, you reluctantly explained your situation, hating the looks of concern and utter befuddlement that settled across his perfect features. “Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

As another crash sounded from your home, water began to flood your eyes, a few gentle tears trickling down your cheeks as you attempted to not cry. “I’m supposed to be strong for you, Juggie,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Besides, you have Betty to care for.”

“But you’re my best friend,” he whispered, eyes scanning your face in hope.

“Yeah, but you should be taking care of your girlfriend, not me.” You winced as you heard a particularly loud crash come from the kitchen.

After a few moments, the door slammed open, your brother frothing at the mouth as he came toward you. “Where are the fucking keys? You hid the fucking keys again.”

“You shouldn’t be driving like this,” you argued.

“I’ll drive however the fuck I want. Where are the fucking keys, bitch?”

Another crash sounded from the house followed by a scream as your brother continued to draw closer, tower over you. Looking from your house to your brother to Jughead, your strength began to falter. All the bravery you held was beginning to wash away as the stress of everything came to the surface at once. Your emotions were bubbling, overwhelming you with stress. Jughead could see the strength falling from your face as your eyes began to water.

“I just can’t do this. I’m sorry,” you whispered, a few stray tears trickling down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. You turned, racing away through the trailer part in an attempt to find somewhere else, anywhere else, to be. Slipping through the fence, you wandered off, leaving your angry brother and your stunned best friend in your wake.

And in that instant Jughead Jones realized he’d never once seen you cry. And apparently he never would.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading. You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://silentexplorer18.tumblr.com/).


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